


Ghosts That We Knew

by Kawaiibooker



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Lives AU, Gen, M/M, Post-Game(s), Pre-Slash, Swimming, nothing happens but it's still pretty gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 08:26:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16783300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiibooker/pseuds/Kawaiibooker
Summary: John decides it's never too late to face his fears. Arthur helps him actually pull through with it.





	Ghosts That We Knew

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed.
> 
> This is a (late) birthday present for my dear friend [Klingoni](http://klingoni.tumblr.com/). Please enjoy!
> 
> Set vaguely in the epilogue. Spoilers for that and chapter 6.

“No need to look at me like that, Marston, it ain't that deep.”

Standing hip-deep in the lazy stream of the Montana river, Arthur crosses his arms in front of his chest and stares down John who is looking less and less confident the longer he stands at the water's edge. Behind him, their horses dig in the loose rocks for stray blades of grass, each man's hat tied to their respective saddle-horn.

“You sure 'bout this? Because I ain't.”

Arthur doesn't move except to raise an eyebrow. “I know ya ain't, that's the whole point of this. Though at the rate we're goin'...”

“Yeah, yeah”, John bites back, making that annoyed gesture with his hand that usually precedes an even more annoyed _shut up, Arthur_. “Just... gimme a minute.”

“I'm just sayin'.”

John barely got his feet wet and he's already frowning, mouth twisting downwards as he glances at the distance between them – neatly covered by clear, gradually deepening water – and takes one step, then another.

“See? Ain't so bad. Almost there.”

Arthur is waiting for him with an outstretched hand, pretending not to notice the uncertain glance John throws his way and the desperate grip of his fingers around his own – as if Arthur would suddenly decide to up and abandon him otherwise, surrounded by the one thing he fears the most.

Instead, he squeezes back just as tightly, guiding him until they're side by side and John can lean into him to steady himself. His sun-kissed skin is warm, pleasantly so in contrast to the cool water flowing around them. “What now?”, John asks, his voice strangely candid without the teasing hostility to roughen it up.

Arthur slings an arm around his shoulder and ruffles his hair to get him out of his head, like he used to when they were younger. It works like a charm, it always does; John shoves him away and grumbles without heat, only slightly mollified by the following pat between his shoulder blades. Arthur's hand slides down to the dip of his lower back to push him, gently.

“Now, get further in. We ain't too deep yet, so you can always stand if ya need to, 'kay?”

Anxiety radiates off John in waves, muscles tense under Arthur's touch. Yet he relents and lets himself be pulled and prodded until the water reaches his chest with minimal complaining. Likely he's too busy panicking on the inside, Arthur muses, and in the least patronizing tone he can manage – with John clinging to him like a cat thrown into a bathtub filled to the brim, not that easy of a feat – he explains the basics of how to stay afloat, meeting John's glare with an unimpressed look of his own.

“I know what a damn back float is.”

“Well, knowin' and doin' are two different pair'a shoes. Just... try to stay calm. Ready?”

John looks down, exhaling in a long, drawn-out sigh. “As I'll ever be, I guess.”

It goes... okay-ish. John's body is lean, leaner than Arthur to be sure, and even with three steady meals every day and proper rest, he's only gained a bit of weight around his hips. In short: Not much mass to float with, and Arthur tries not to show the strain of practically carrying him for the time it takes for John to relax enough and let the river do the work. 

Which of course means that John notices, almost instantly. “'m fine, I can handle it”, Arthur mumbles under his breath, an automatic response to the worry swirling in John's gaze before it can manifest into words. “If you say so”, John replies hesitantly, treading lightly around his pride.

Even years later, those nasty months he spent fighting for his life in the seemingly-inescapable grasp of tuberculosis haunt him, as does the persistent cough that creeps up on him during the coldest days of the year – like a physical reminder of how it all started, back in the winter of 1898.

Phantom pain for the lungs, John called it once. A battle scar that never healed quite right. 

The mention of his name brings him back to the present; Arthur blinks down at John, the somber memories quickly forgotten at the sight of a slow smile spreading on John's face.

“I think... I think I got it! Or well, I'm not drownin' at least.”

“Not drownin' _yet_ , ya mean.” Arthur chuckles at the eye-roll that garners him. “Nah, just kiddin' with ya. Told ya you got this.” After a minute or two, his grip releases, casually, and indeed John keeps floating, even if it's touch-and-go for a moment as he realizes he's doing it without help.

“Arthur–“

“'m right here. Trust me, 'kay?”

John closes his eyes, breathes deeply. “...'kay. But don't go swimmin' nowhere.”

Underwater, Arthur's hand brushes John's. He links their fingers together.

“Not goin' anywhere without ya.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry it's so short, but it felt like a good place to stop hhh
> 
> Anyways, I'm more than happy to report that nothing bad ever happened to Arthur, and he, John, and their family are chillin' at Beecher's Hope in eternal happiness, amen.


End file.
